


A Hell of Heaven

by Mrs_SimonTam_PHD



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst to the nth degree, Hallucination!Michael, Hallucinations, Improper Use of Religion, Leviathans, Mental Health Issues, Religious Themes, Sam Winchester’s Faith, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, Using Religion to Make Someone Guilty, canon divergent- Season 7, mentally ill!Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 11:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12058245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD/pseuds/Mrs_SimonTam_PHD
Summary: The wall has been broken, and Sam Winchester is visited by an unexpected angel.





	A Hell of Heaven

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about Hallucifer the other night, and as I was thinking over the angst and the trauma Sam went through, a thought came to my mind. And that thought was, “What if Michael was the hallucination?” And thus, this fic was born. 
> 
> Much love to @samwise-the-true-hero and @trisscar368 for help and beta’ing (and also screaming curses at me xD)
> 
> Quote from John Milton’s Paradise Lost- The mind is it’s own place, and in itself can make a Hell of Heaven, a Heaven of Hell.

Honestly, Sam could live with the memories he had of the Cage, once Castiel broke the wall inside his mind. He could live with the Hellfire, the twin taunting laughs of Michael and Lucifer as they, as Balthazar once so eloquently put it, ‘hate banged’ his soul. He could even deal with his memories of him being soulless and the mild atrocities he had committed.

What he couldn’t deal with, however, was the visitor.

“Hello Sam.”

“Go away,” Sam hissed through gritted teeth.

It had been three weeks since Castiel ate Purgatory and unleashed the Leviathans onto the world, and _he_ was here.

 _He_ being Michael.

He didn’t even have the decency to use Adam’s form to appear to Sam. No, instead, he appeared to Sam as though he was a young and handsome John Winchester, which made Sam’s hatred for the former viceroy of all of Heaven grow even more.

He hadn’t told Dean about this. Of course he hadn’t. Why would he? Dean would just freak out, and he wanted Dean to focus on the Leviathans, not on him.

“But we were having such an _interesting_ discussion, Sam,” Michael said, coming over into Sam’s line of vision and sitting down. He cocked his head to the side. “Weren’t we?”

Sometimes, there was no hiding from the hallucination when he wanted to talk. If this really was a hallucination. Maybe Michael escaped, slipped through the cracks when Death wasn’t looking and was now seeking to drive Sam insane. Sighing, he looked around him. He was alone. Outside, he could hear Dean working in Bobby’s salvage yard, and Bobby snoring away upstairs in his bedroom. Marking his page in his book, he turned to look at Michael. “And what discussion was that, Michael?” he asked.

“Oh, all the times you failed your brother, of course,” Michael said, finding a chair on the opposite side of the table Sam was using. “And we left off when you chose a demon over your own flesh and blood.”

Sam clenched his jaw.

“I must say, Sam, I _am_ rather impressed. For a demon, she _was_ extraordinarily attractive,” Michael continued. “True form _and_ her meatsuit. So, excellent job on the attractiveness part. But you must have known that she was nothing more than a lying whore who used your lust and wrath to control you.”

Sam stood up and went into the kitchen to grab a beer. He wasn’t sure if he could handle this conversation sober. Seeing a bottle of Craig that Crowley left the last time he had infiltrated Bobby’s house, he grabbed it and twisted the cap off before chugging a good portion of it, letting the cinnamon and tobacco flavored Scotch hit the back of his throat in bitterness.

Michael, of course, followed. “She used you, Sam, and because you were aching to get your dick wet, so aching, you turned against your own brother. How does that make you feel, Sam?”

“Well,” Sam said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Obviously, like shit, but you know. I got over it.”

“Even though she used you to raise my little brother?” Michael asked. “Although, I think you feel more guilty that you got Lucifer out of the Cage than the fact that you fell hard for a sweet piece of tail. Lust and greed- the undoing of every man. You aren’t exactly greedy, Sam, but you _do_ lust. For power. For sex. For demon blood.”

“You’re wrong,” Sam said. “ _Especially_ on the last part.”

Michael sighed, shaking his head before cocking his head to the side, as if he was listening to a sound that he could hear but Sam couldn’t. “We’ll pick up there at our next chat,” he said before disappearing as Sam heard the noise. He turned and saw Dean come in, cleaning off a socket wrench.

“Hey there, Sammy,” He nodded.

“Hey,” Sam greeted. “How’s the repairs going?”

“Fine,” Dean said with a shrug. “Hot out there, but that’s okay. How’re you doing, since Cas, y’know, cracked open your gourd?”

“Fine,” Sam said with a shrug of his own. He could almost hear Michael’s amused chuckle. _Fuck off._ “I mean, I’m getting flashbacks of the Cage, and the torture, but I’m fine, Dean. Really.”

“Okay,” Dean said. “I’m going to trust you.”

Sam nodded. “Yeah. Just flashbacks and the occasional seeing of a torture chamber but I know what’s real and what’s not.”

“As long as you know that distinction,” Dean said. “Now suit up, we got a case.”

 

Michael seemed to prefer appearing when Sam was completely alone, as if that would help his mental state, but obviously it didn’t.

“You keep lying to Dean, Sam,” Michael said, four weeks later.

Sam ignored him as he began piecing together where the Leviathan doppelgangers of him and Dean were flitting to and from.

“He’s going to find out one of these days,” Michael continued. “And you know he won’t trust you again with your own mental health. Or, just in general. And you know how Dean gets when he catches you lying through your teeth. He gets those sad, round eyes and his lips form a pout and he gets that little choked voice- you know the one. The one he did when you all found out that Castiel was working with the King of Hell.”

Sam gritted his teeth and prayed for Dean to get back with food soon. He was hungry.

“Why don’t you come clean, Sam? Ease the heavy burden of lying on your soul?” Michael asked. “I can absolve you, you know. I’m the firstborn of Heaven.”

“You’re an arrogant dick is what you are,” Sam grunted.

Michael raised his eyes to the ceiling. “It lives!” he mocked. “It hasn’t gone mute.”

“Shut up, and let me work, Michael,” Sam hissed. “Go. . . fly back to Heaven and torture some souls up there.”

Michael chuckled and shook his head. “I’m rather comfortable right here. Besides, we need to continue talking about every way you’ve wronged Dean.”

“Or, you can shut up, go the fuck away, and leave me alone,” Sam said. He grabbed the almost always ever present bottle of whiskey. Dean’s taken to buying two bottles now, seeing Sam go through whiskey like it was water. He didn’t comment on it, though.

“Day drinking, Sam?” Michael asked, tsking. “Well, we _are_ on a sore subject for you.”

“How about we talk about you for a change, hmm?” Sam asked, arching a brow.

Michael leaned across the table. “I am a good son, Sam.”

“You couldn’t even ask Dean to be your vessel outright,” Sam said, making another circle on the map in front of him. “You sent your minions to do your dirty work.” He looked up and directly at Michael, glaring into sharp emerald eyes. “You know, maybe that’s why I have a _smidgen_ more respect for Lucifer rather than you. Lucifer didn’t try to trick me, or force my yes. You did. You just didn’t want to dirty your hands.”

Michael hummed in thought a little bit before shrugging. “I had bigger matters to attend to. Heaven was a little bit restless. So many people wanted to follow Castiel, even then.”

“And now what?” Sam asked, cocking his head to the side as he looked back down at the map. “Look where that got him. He’s dead, and unleashed the Leviathans into the world. And now, two of them are walking about looking like me and Dean, and Dean’s angsting over his car. So I’m trying to find out so I can put these guys down, so Dean and I can return to our normal lives. Got it?” He returned to his map and his eyes fell onto _Jericho,_ circled in red.

“Jericho,” he murmured. “The Woman in White, first case I had since being out of the game.”

“And what started off the rest of your sad, sorry life,” Michael said. “You know, Jessica Moore is in Heaven. She _was_ an innocent bystander and she was a good person. Her Heaven’s full of life with you. If only she knew that her life with you was a _lie._ Maybe if she knew, she wouldn’t have turned into a marshmallow on the ceiling.”

Sam wasn’t paying attention. “Black Water Ridge, Wendigo,” he murmured. “They’re hitting towns where we all had jobs. Meaning. . . Next up, St. Louis.” He dialed Dean’s number. “Dean? Let’s get packing. I know where our dick headed mooks are going to be.”

 

“You know, this guy thinks that burgers are better than sex,” the Leviathan masquerading as Dean said as they ate in Connor’s Diner in St. Louis.

The Leviathan masquerading as Sam gestured to his salad. “I’m eating dead plants covered in creamy white goo. It tastes like self righteousness.”

“Disgusting,” Levi-Dean said, dropping his burger. “And the hero complex on this guy. . .” He whistled lowly.

“I’ve got a guy who is _hallucinating_ the archangel Michael, and you know what the sad thing is?” Levi-Sam said. “He doesn’t even know it’s a hallucination. He just thinks that the archangel slipped through the bars of Satan’s cage.”

Levi-Dean snorted. “Wow. That’s precious.”

“You know,” Levi-Sam sighed, “I had a brother with this many issues once.”

“Yeah?” Levi-Dean said.

“You know what I did? I ate him,” Levi-Sam said in a deadpanned voice.

“As you should have,” Levi-Dean nodded.

Levi-Sam looked around, scowling at the salad in front of him. “Ready to do this?”

“Definitely,” Levi-Dean nodded.

It was show time.

 

Sam was up late, researching. It wasn’t for a case, though; and it wasn’t about the Leviathans.

It was about Michael.

Sam knew that _logically,_ Michael should still be in the Cage. He _still_ doesn’t know how Castiel managed to retrieve him, with or without his soul. Death was. . . well, Death. Death could probably get into wherever he damn well pleased without too much trouble. Sam made an absent-minded note off to the side to send Death a basket of chicken nuggets for not killing Dean when they bound him.

But he was still wondering. Was he going crazy? Or was Michael, the flesh and blood archangel, really here?

“Hello, Sam.”

Sam peered over the laptop at Michael, gazing at him with a sharpened gaze. “Hello,” he said.

“Ready to resume our conversation? I believe we were doing a run through of your greatest failures hits. And I do believe we left off on dear, sweet Jessica.”

Sam gritted his teeth. “Look, I didn’t tell her a damn thing in order to protect her,” he said sharply, looking over at Dean, where he was passed out and snoring away. “And because I wanted _out_ of the life. I wanted to be _normal_.”

Michael shrugged. “Even though you’ve always been an abomination?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sam said. “Maybe I should’ve told her but you know what? I had a life. A happy one.”

Michael gave a half smirk, reminiscent of Lucifer’s. “Were you happy, though, Sam?” he asked.

Sam nodded. “Yeah. I was.” He returned to his laptop and sighed in relief at the information gleaming in front of him. Sure, he was batshit crazy, but at least he knew the truth now.

“You’re not real,” he told Michael, a smirk of his own on his face. “You’re not here. You’re a hallucination, Michael.”

Michael raised a brow before giving a cold chuckle.

“Oh, you’re so cute,” he said, “trying to find a logical explanation for my presence. You’re right that you’re hallucinating, Sam. But I,” he gestured to himself, “am very real. _You_ are real. Dean over there, snoozing away? This motel room? None of it’s real. You’re stuck here, in the Cage, with me and my little brother.”

“No,” Sam whispered, “That’s not possible.”

Michael laughed. “Sam. There is no escape from the Cage, _especially_ by the 66 Seals. Not with Lilith being dead- thank you for that, by the way. Do you think that if there was a way out, me and Lucifer would’ve already traipsed off?” He shook his head. “You’re an _ant_ compared to us, Sam. None of what you have been doing is real. You’re stuck here, with us, Sam.”

Sam shook his head. “I’m out, I have been for two years now,” he said.

“No, you’re not,” Michael hummed. “This is by _my_ design. Lucifer wanted to do it, but Lucifer’s too quick about things and he _does_ nurse a soft spot for you. Probably because you’re his Vessel, and he’s _always_ wanted to take care of you. The guardian devil over his precious little king.” Michael raised a brow that seemed to mock Sam. “And I think this is the best torture I’ve ever designed.”

Sam swallowed. “Okay, say you’re creating this world for me to live in to torture me,” he said, going with the benefit of the doubt. “Why this? Why this post-apocalyptic mess with the Leviathans?”

“Would you have believed this was your life, or some nice and easy innocent life where you and Jessica were married and you were a high powered lawyer?” Michael asked. “If it had been apple pie, you wouldn’t have believed it, and then Lucifer and I would have been bored. I can guarantee you that Lucifer’s enjoying what’s happening right now.” He swung his legs up onto the table, smiling serenely at Sam.

“Okay, maybe you have a point,” Sam said with a shrug.

“If it wasn’t a mess, Sam, you wouldn’t have believed it was your life,” Michael said.

“Okay, and the year of me being soulless?” Sam asked.

Dean snorted himself awake and Michael winked before vanishing.

“Dude,” Dean asked sleepily, “what are you doing still up?”

“Uhh,” Sam scrambled for a logical explanation, before a pop up ad from Dean’s use of Sam’s laptop came up, and a woman’s low moan echoed through the tiny motel room. Sam’s not sure if he’s ever been more thankful for a pop up in his life.

“Sammy,” Dean mumbled, rubbing at his eyes with a chuckle, “Man, I know we all gotta get some alone time, but you need your sleep.”

“Right,” Sam yawned. He _was_ tired. Clicking out of the pop up and running a virus scan on his laptop, he got up out of the chair and made his way to his bed.

“Night, bitch,” Dean groaned.

Sam smiled to himself. “Night, jerk,” he whispered. He slid under the covers and closed his eyes.

 _Well, if this is a hallucination,_ he thought to himself as he started to drift off, _at least it’s a damn good one. It’s just my life, and that’s okay. I still got Dean._

 

“Doesn’t he look so pretty when he sleeps, Lucifer?” Michael whispered.

Sam groaned and nuzzled into his pillows. A hand curled around the gun he kept beneath his pillow.

“Absolutely,” he heard Lucifer breathe. “Does he honestly think he’s topside?”

“He’s not too sure anymore,” Michael murmured. “Ready to bring reality crashing down?”

“With pleasure.”

Sam’s eyes shot open and he sat up straight in bed, gun pointed at Michael. He looked, but Lucifer was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Lucifer?” He asked.

“Lucifer?” Michael cocked his head to the side in curiosity. “Oh. Yes. Well, Lucifer ran off to get some supplies, he’ll be back.”

“Supplies? For what?” Sam asked, out of breath.

Michael waved his hand. Gone was the hotel room, and he was looking at Hell, more specifically the Cage.

“No,” he whispered.

“Time to wake up, Sammy,” Michael mocked. “Time to realize you never left the Cage. You’re stuck here, with Lucifer and I. Forever. And we are going to torture you to the end of time.”

Sam got off the bed- table, his mind helpfully corrected, keeping his gun raised.

“Please, Sam, let’s have as little violence as possible,” Michael soothed. “Put the gun down.”

“No!” Sam shouted. Where was Dean? “Dean!”

“Dean’s not here, you little maggot,” Michael chuckled. “You’re in _Hell,_ Sam. Grow up. Big brother’s not here to hold your hand.”

Sam fired, but Michael had disappeared. The sound of the bullet ricocheting off the chains and metal of the Cage clanged loudly in Sam’s ears.

“Nice try,” Michael hummed from behind Sam and Sam whirled around, gun up and the hammer cocked back. “But I’m an archangel. You’re just a weak, pathetic little human. Your gun is no match for me.”

“Or me,” Lucifer’s silky voice joined Michael’s and Sam whipped his head to look at Lucifer’s face. The Devil smirked. “Oh Michael, the look on his face is precious.”

“I know,” Michael purred. “I’m glad we’re able to set aside our differences in order to do this.”

“Oh, so am I. This is one of your best yet,” Lucifer marveled, walking around to join his older brother.

Sam waved his gun between Michael and Lucifer, unsure of who to shoot first.

“Try to shoot us all you like, Sam,” Lucifer said, “but it won’t make a difference. That gun isn’t even real.”

“To think that he saved the world once,” Michael sighed. “Really a pity.”

Lucifer looked at Michael. “Want me to go find the chains? We’re going to need them for what we have planned.”

“Yes, of course,” Michael hummed.

Lucifer winked at Sam and disappeared, leaving Sam to focus on the former Viceroy.

“There’s a simpler way to help you, Sam,” Michael said softly, coming closer to Sam.

“Don’t come closer!” Sam shouted, gripping his gun with two hands as he tried to keep it steady.

“Let me absolve you of your sins,” Michael murmured, ignoring Sam’s shout. “You’re devout, probably the only redeeming quality about you. Confess unto me, and let me heal your broken soul.”

“Why?” Sam asked harshly. “I thought I was just an ‘abomination’.”

Michael shrugged. “Abomination or not,” he said, “every being is capable of being forgiven. Just as you are. Confess your sins to me, Sam. Let me grant you absolution.”

Sam tried to stand his ground, keep his gun raised.

“God _wants_ you to be forgiven, Sam,” Michael continued. “Forgiveness is the whole name of the game. He wants _everyone_ to live with him in Paradise. Where peace shall reign. Don’t you want that, Sam? To live in a world of no more monsters, where you can sleep at night and love who you want? No more nightmares, no more hiding from yourself. No more lying poorly to Dean. He suspects something is wrong with you, you know. Well, the hallucination was beginning to think that something was wrong with you.”

“Sam!”

Sam turned, keeping his gun raised as Dean came into view of Hell, and suddenly, it was back to the hotel. Instead of Michael leaving, however, Michael stayed.

“Oh, you’re cruel, Lucifer,” Michael laughed to himself.

“Sammy, what’s going on?” Dean asked, coming closer.

‘Don’t come closer!” Sam shouted, pointing the gun at Dean.

“Whoa! Okay, Sam. Set the gun down,” Dean said, keeping his hands raised. “Let’s talk this out, okay?”

“You’re not real!” Sam shouted. “Stay away!”

“Sammy?” Dean’s voice was cracking.

“Come kneel before me, Sam,” Michael said softly, beckoning Sam closer. “Let us have confession and absolution. Let me give you the greatest gift my Father ever gave humanity- forgiveness.”

Sam looked at Michael, his heart breaking.

“Sammy? Who are you looking at?” Dean started sounding scared.

Sam didn’t pay any attention to Dean, instead focusing on Michael. “What do I have to do?” he asked Michael.

“Kneel before me and confess your sins,” Michael said. “I’ll lay my hand on you and cleanse your soul from its impurities. And you will be absolved, in the name of my Father.”

Sam inhaled, then exhaled, slowly lowering his gun.

“Of course, it won’t be enough to send you to Heaven,” Michael shrugged. “You’re never going to Heaven, Sam. The furthest up the ladder you’ll get is Purgatory, but still, that’s better than Hell, and _certainly_ better than the Cage.”

“Sam, whoever you’re talking to, they’re not real,” Dean insisted.

“I swear, I’m going to turn your brother into a rock,” Michael sighed. “Come here, Sam. Be absolved. Lift that heavy weight off your heart from the lies and the torture you’re doing to yourself.”

Sam looked between Dean and Michael, not knowing what to do.

The last thing he saw was Dean’s fist to his face.

 

When he woke, he was in Dean’s arms. His nose felt broken and he looked up at Dean blearily. “Dean?”

“Who were you seeing, Sam?” Dean asked urgently. “Was it Lucifer?”

Sam shook his head. He _wished_ it was Lucifer twenty-four seven. He knew how to handle the Devil. “Michael,” he whispered. “He. . . he told me none of this was real.”

“I’m going to go down to the Cage and rip that feather-brained wings off with my own bare hands,” Dean growled. “THIS. This is real.”

“Big brother’s not really here, Sam,” Michael said, appearing in front of Dean and Sam, smirking at the younger Winchester. “You just wish that he was.”

“Screw. You.” Sam hissed between his teeth.

“Is he here?” Dean asked.

“Sam, I just want to absolve you, give you forgiveness,” Michael persisted, crouching in front of Sam. “Can’t you accept that?”

Dean grabbed Sam’s hand, the one he had cut when Castiel threw him to the ground as God and pressed down on it. “You remember this, Sam? Do you remember cutting this open? The blood? Me sewing it up with a bottle of whiskey and some dental floss?” Dean asked, pressing on the scar.

Michael fizzled, like a bad internet connection, and he sighed. “You can do what you need to feel better, Sam,” he said, “But I’m here to stay. I won’t give up on you, Sam. You’ll be begging for forgiveness soon.”

“Please, believe me,” Dean sounded close to tears.

Sam replaced Dean’s thumb with his own, pressing down on the scar hard enough that the stitches, almost completely healed, started ripping apart. Blood pooled into Sam’s hand as Michael disappeared.

“Sammy?” Dean asked cautiously.

“He’s gone,” Sam said, panting heavily. “For now.” He looked down at his bleeding hand. “Ow,” he said absently.

“C’mon,” Dean said, patting Sam’s shoulder. “Let’s get this patched up again, and you’re going to tell me everything that fucking asshole said.”

Sam nodded. He owed Dean that much.

 

Dean was more reluctant to leave Sam alone after the incident in the hotel, and Sam couldn’t blame him. Especially now that Michael was hanging around even when they weren’t alone. He didn’t speak much or anything, just followed Sam and Dean around. Sam would press on the restitched scar in the middle of his hand to make Michael disappear. Even if the hallucination didn’t speak, he was still _very_ distracting.

Sam felt like a lab rat when Michael was around. The archangel seemed to be observing him. He slept fitfully and barely ate. He started carrying a flask around, drinking from it whenever Michael refused to go away. It helped, some.

Dean checked in with him frequently, but so far, there was nothing to make the other shoe drop.

That is, until Dick Roman killed Bobby.

Dean and Sam opted for separate rooms that night, deciding that they needed time apart to mourn in the proper way. They grabbed food and alcohol for the two of them, before heading to the hotel. They got separate rooms, bade each other good-night, and headed in. Luckily, they were side by side, just in case something happened.

Sam warded his room and placed down the usual salt lines before tearing open the brown bag that his whiskey was in. He splurged on some Woodford Reserve and poured himself a glass.

“Sorry to hear about Bobby Singer,” Michael said, sitting on the counter. “I’m surprised the old bastard lived that long, to be honest. And to die by a Leviathan, too. That’s not such a bad way to go.”

Sam didn’t use the scar. He was too tired to. He just ignored the hallucination and drained the glass in almost one entire, graceful swallow.

“My heart does bleed for you, Sam,” Michael said. “You have the weight of the world on your shoulders, and such a heavy burden on your heart. If only you’d let me absolve you of your sins, you’d feel better. You know what the Catholics say. Confession is good for the soul.”

Sam looked at Michael, the second glass of whiskey in his hand. “Go shove your absolution up your ass, Michael,” he said tiredly. “I’m tired. I just had to salt and burn the man who was more my father than the man you’re wearing. Dean and I have lost a resource and a family member today. All I want to do is drink and pass out to dream of ways to kill Dick Roman. Now leave me alone.” He drained the second glass, the bitter liquid stinging his throat and he sighed.

“You need someone to talk to, Sam?” Michael asked.

On the other side of the wall, Sam could hear Dean throwing things and he sighed again, heavier this time. “No,” he said. “I need to sleep. And eat. And get drunk.”

“Can you even get drunk anymore, Sam?” Michael asked.

“Does it matter?” Sam asked, voice sharp. “I just want some quiet. Some time to myself. Can’t I have that?”

“You _are_ alone, you do realize that?” Michael asked. “You’ve already sussed out that I’m a hallucination. Nobody’s perfect- only Father is.”

Sam ignored Michael and took a long drink straight from the bottle.

“You’re just like my little brother,” Michael sighed.

“I am _nothing_ like Lucifer,” Sam snapped.

“Sure you’re not,” Michael smirked slowly. “Wrathful, prideful, stubborn to the last. Refusing help. Willing to become an abomination and give into the darkness in your heart. Self-deprecating. Filled with lust. You and my brother are two sides of the same coin, filled with the same attributes. The only difference between you and Lucifer, Sam, is that you honestly believe that when you turn wrathful, when you give into your lusts, you’re doing it for the right reasons. Lucifer was just selfish and childish. You, Sam, you do it because you want to be a good person.”

“I’m so not having this conversation,” Sam growled. “Least of all with _you._ ”

“The path to Hell is paved with good intentions, Sam. Why else do you think it was so easy for you to fall into the hole, Sam? For you to drag _me_ down with you?” Michael waved his hands expansively. “It’s because it’s where you were always meant to end up, Sam. You were _always_ destined for Hell. As it was in Heaven, so shall it be on Earth.”

Sam raised his head to regard the archangel.

“So maybe Father wanted the Devil,” Michael said with a shrug. “He wished it didn’t have to be Lucifer, but. . .” he sighed, “It had to be Lucifer. You know you were John’s favorite child.”

“What?” Sam asked with a whisper.

“Oh yes,” Michael grinned. “Strong, ruthless, spoke his mind. Dean may’ve been his good little soldier, but you were the one he favored. Smart, intelligent, an excellent researcher. You would’ve made an _excellent_ lawyer, and even though he never expressed true approval of you, he _was_ proud of you. He was just scared that you would get into so much trouble while you were at Stanford, that you would be vulnerable. Why do you think he almost never raised a hand against you? Because he always took out his anger on his other son, the one he least liked. Dean.”

Sam shook his head and drank some more whiskey. “I don’t believe you,” he said.

“Believe me or don’t, that’s up to you,” Michael said with a shrug. “But you know, deep down, that it’s true. And that’s why he told Dean that he may have to kill you. Even though you are a monster, he knew he couldn’t ever kill his favorite son, and he hoped that Dean would have the strength to do it for him.”

Sam chuckled and tilted the bottle at Michael. “You play a good game,” he said. “But it’s time for you to go now.” He set the bottle of whiskey down onto the table and pressed on the scar.

Nothing happened.

“Oh dear,” Michael sighed. “That doesn’t seem to be working, now does it?”

Sam looked up at Michael, horrified.

“You let me back in, Sam.” Michael shook his head. “Which means. . . I’m _definitely_ here to stay. And you’re not going to sleep tonight, Sam. You’re never going to sleep. . . again.”

Flames creeped up around the chair and table they were sitting in, the flames dancing their macabre dance in the light of the archangel’s eyes.

“Welcome back, Sam,” Michael hummed. “You’re in your own personal Twilight Zone now, orchestrated by none other than yours truly. Shall we talk terms?”

“Terms of what?” Sam asked softly, trying to move away from the flames.

“Of your absolution, of course.” Michael said. He summoned a legal pad and pen, smirking. “Tell me your sins, so I can give you your penance.”

 

Everything went downhill pretty fast after that.

Michael would not leave Sam alone and seemed to delight in tormenting Sam, especially by quoting Scripture. The quotes had the general, overall theme of forgiveness and penance. He tortured Sam day and night with them.

Dean was getting worried, especially when he noticed that Sam wasn’t sleeping. Sam _couldn’t_ sleep, Michael delighted in making an awful racket with it.

“He’s either quoting the Bible, or he’s singing hymns,” Sam hissed one day three weeks later while they worked a case that would lead them to the Leviathans, drinking coffee.

“Yeah?” Dean asked. “Which hymns?”

“Well, right now ‘Rock of Ages’,” Sam sighed, Michael softly singing the hymn in his ear. He scowled at the hallucination.

Dean frowned. “The. . . Def Leopard song?” he asked in confusion.

Sam threw Dean a bitchface. “No, Dean. Not the Def Leopard song,” he said. “The actual _hymn._ You know. Rock of Ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in thee?”

Dean scowled. “Seriously?”

“Seriously,” Sam said. “I’d almost prefer the rock song.”

“Heathen,” Michael whispered.

Sam couldn’t help it. He turned to glare at the hallucination. “Shut up,” he hissed at Michael.

“What’d he say?” Dean asked with a mouthful of bagel and cream cheese.

Sam sighed. “He called me a heathen.”

Dean chuckled. “If you’re the heathen,” he said, “then what am I?”

“Almost as big of a whore as the Whore of Babylon,” Michael grumbled.

“Michael,” Sam hissed under his breath. “Piss off.”

Michael simply smirked and started singing a new hymn. “ _Let all mortal flesh keep silent and with fear and trembling stand. . ._ ”

Sam took a deep breath and focused on the coffee in front of him. “You put espresso in this, right?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Sorry that you can’t sleep.”

“I’m exhausted, Dean, I just want like five minutes of sleep,” Sam sighed. “Or five days. It’s getting blurry.”

“I told you you were never sleeping again, Sam,” Michael said, stopping his singing. “Never again, Sam.”

Sam ignored the hallucination.

 

It all came to a head not four hours later.

Michael was riding shotgun, singing. Still singing ‘Let All Mortal Flesh Keep Silent’, but still singing.

Sam was exhausted. He yawned, trying to keep his eyes on the road. He just wanted to sleep.

“I’m almost to the hotel,” he murmured to himself, “And then I can lay down and pretend to get some sleep. Just another two miles to go.”

He yawned again. Michael was mysteriously quiet, but Sam didn’t notice. He felt his lids droop shut but snapped them open again, intent on keeping his eyes forward.

Mile and a half.

His eyes drooped again, except this time he didn’t have the energy to keep them open. Not even a triple red eye could save him now. A soft snore echoed from his throat, one didn’t realize because he had fallen asleep at the wheel.

“SAM!”

Sam jerked awake, just in time to quickly swerve out of the way of an 18 wheeler bearing down on him. He pulled off to the side and looked at Michael breathing heavily.

Michael raised a brow at him.

“I think I need help,” Sam heaved.

“You think, Sam?” Michael asked softly.

 

_Sam Wesson, age 28. 6’4 and 240 lbs. Patient admitted self to hospital after staying awake for twenty-three days straight and falling asleep on the road. Diagnosis is schizophrenia with religious overtones. Says he sees the archangel Michael begging him to confess his sins to him for absolution and spends most of his time quoting the Bible and singing dark hymns to try to persuade Sam. Hallucination causes issues with sleeping, eating, and times of aggression. Seems to also have major depressive disorder and anger issues. Prescribing an antidepressant and an antipsychotic twice a day and a sleeping medication to help encourage sleep at night. Solo therapy once a week._

“How’re you doing, Sam?” Dr. Fitzgibbons asked, sitting down in the chair at the desk in Sam’s room.

Sam looked over where Michael was standing. “Okay, I guess,” he said with a shrug.

“Lying again, Sam, you sinner,” Michael teased.

“Is Michael still with you, or are the pills helping?” Dr. Fitzgibbons asked.

“The pills aren’t helping that much,” Sam admitted. “I’m still having trouble sleeping at night and I’m still seeing Michael.”

Dr. Fitzgibbons nodded and made a note on his pad. “And why do you think the archangel Michael has been appearing to you?”

“To save his soul, what I can of it, Doctor,” Michael replied.

Sam ignored his hallucination. “I’ve. . . not been a good person in my life,” he said. Half truths. “And I guess my mind thinks it’s gotten to be too much.”

Another note was made. “And you still see him?”

“Yeah,” Sam said.

“What is Michael doing right now?” Dr. Fitzgibbons asked gently.

Sam looked over to where Michael was standing with an old Bible, looking through it. “He’s standing over there,” Sam said, pointing, “Looking through an old Bible, written in Greek I think. And he’s been making comments since you came in.”

Dr. Fitzgibbons made a few more notes. Michael hummed his approval at Sam’s observation. “Why do you think he has a Bible?”

Sam sighed. “To find verses about being forgiven,” he said, “So that I can kneel before him and confess my sins.”

“You’re saying that the hallucination of the archangel Michael wants you to confess your sins to him?” the psychiatrist asked.

“Ding, ding ding,” Michael smiled.   
“Yes,” Sam said.

“And this keeps you up at night?” Dr. Fitzgibbons asked.

Sam nodded. “He’ll also try to hold a, like, church service at midnight and makes bells ring and an organ play,” he said.

“That sounds,” Dr. Fitzgibbons winced, “a little over the top.”

“He’s showing off,” Sam rolled his eyes.

Dr. Fitzgibbons laughed softly before reaching over and patting Sam’s knee. “I’ll see if I can up your antipsychotics. Let’s try to put Michael to rest.”

Sam nodded, giving a somewhat grateful smile up to the psychiatrist. “Alright, thank you, Doctor,” he said.

“I think I’m going to shove consecrated Communion wafers down your throat,” Michael grumbled as Dr. Fitzgibbons left.

Sam glared at Michael. “That doesn’t sound very angelic,” he mocked.

“I’m simply growing impatient at your obstinance,” Michael said simply. “Ah, here’s a good one. Proverbs 28:13. ‘Whoever conceals their sins does not prosper, but the one who confesses them and renounces them finds mercy’.” The archangel smiled and looked over at Sam.

“I don’t exactly hide my sins, Michael,” Sam replied. “And I do pray and ask for repentance. To God. You’re not God, Michael.”

“Perhaps not,” Michael said. “But what if he sent me to absolve you of your sins?”

Sam sighed. “Did he? Did he actually talk to you and say ‘hey, Michael, go get Sam Winchester to confess and repent and absolve him of his sins’?” he challenged.

Michael shrugged. “Does that matter? No, Sam, because even if Father didn’t say it directly, He _wants_ you to be forgiven. To be absolved.”

Sam rubbed his temples. “Maybe, but does it have to be by you?” he asked.

“Who else would want to even have you absolved?” Michael asked mockingly. “Besides dear little Castiel, but he’s the one who knocked your wall down and made you remember Hell. Made you want me. Your little angel of forgiveness on your shoulder.”

Sam sighed and curled up into bed. Maybe he’ll get some sleep without the sedative.

Church bells echoed in Sam’s mind and he groaned, closing his eyes and pulling his pillow over his ears.

 

This was the last straw, Dean had said. He was going to find Castiel. Sam reminded him that Castiel was dead, but Dean wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted Castiel to fix Sam.

Especially after the latest fiasco.

Sam was still resolutely refusing to go to Michael for ‘confession’, even though the angel pushed harder, and harder. He dug deep into Sam’s insecurities, brought them forth. _Unloved. Unworthy. Hell’s bitch. The Antichrist. Lucifer’s little pet. He was destined for this, to fail no matter his intentions. To betray his brother over and over again until Sam couldn’t take it anymore and turned his back on his brother for good, hardened his heart against Dean and good and righteousness. After all, if it happened in Heaven, it must be so on Earth. And if Dean was Michael’s copy, then it would only make sense that Sam was a carbon copy of Lucifer. His lusts overrode him._

These were the things Michael was now whispering to him. Gone were the church services, the Bible verses, the hymns. It was as if Michael turned into the serpent, whispering filth and lies into Sam’s ear.

“You know why you checked yourself into the hospital, Sam?” Michael finally asked one day, several weeks after the hatred started. “It’s because you know you’re going to die. I saw you sign the paperwork the other day. A DNR? Living will and testament? Final letter to Dean? You’ve even asked for a priest to come in and give you your last rites. You’re a dead man walking. The only question is, is it going to be the lack of sleep over your guilty conscience that kills you? Or is it going to be the fact that you can’t eat or drink anything without seeing it covered in blood or it _being_ blood?”

“Stop giving me the plagues,” Sam said in a tired voice. “I’m done, Michael.” He looked down at the key he nicked off of Dr. Fitzgibbons at his last appointment. “I’m only going to ask for forgiveness for one thing.”

Michael cocked his head to the side curiously. “Oh?” he asked, moving closer to Sam. “And what is that?”

“This.” Sam took the key and dug it into his wrist, hissing in pain as he dragged it up the length of his arm. He kept it quiet, though. He didn’t want a nurse or a doctor to interrupt. Blood poured out of the open wound.

“Sam!” Michael waved his arms in front of Sam’s face as Sam held the bloodied key up. “Sam, no, this can’t be forgiven!”

“All suicide is is murder, right?” Sam panted. “Murder of oneself? It’s a capital sin to commit murder. Forgive me right now, and I’ll holler for help.”

“Sam, this isn’t what you’re supposed to do!” Michael sounded panicked.

Sam gave a hollow laugh. “Maybe it is,” he whispered. “And in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, I relinquish my soul unto the Lord to do with as He sees fit.” With that, he dug the key into his other wrist and arm, groaning and gasping. His vision was already going blurry.

“Nurse! Doctor!” Michael shouted. “You’ve got a bleeding patient!”

Sam gave a laugh. Michael was fading in and out of vision. “You’re a hallucination, Michael,” he whispered. “The only one who can hear you. . . is me.”

He doesn’t even remember passing out. All he remembered was Michael shouting for help uselessly.

When he came to, Michael was perched over Dr. Fitzgibbons’ shoulder as the doctor looked at Sam. “Sam? Can you hear me?”

Sam groaned and blinked blearily up at the doctor. “I’m supposed to be dead,” he whispered.

“Suicides aren’t covered by a DNR, Sam,” the psychiatrist said not unkindly, patting Sam’s hand. Sam looked down and noticed he was cuffed to the bed and Michael was glaring at him.

“Oh,” he said softly.

“Your case is getting pretty severe,” Dr. Fitzgibbons said, “although with the way it was progressing, I should’ve put you on suicide watch. Clumsy of me. I can’t give you any more medication, but there’s a surgical procedure.”

“Surgical procedure?” Sam whispered, licking his dry lips.

“Is it a procedure in which you can remove his brain and replace with one that comes up with less stupid and fewer self sacrificing ideas?” Michael snapped.

“Don’t worry, we’re not talking about lobotomy,” Dr. Fitzgibbons said.

He explained the procedure and with another pat to Sam’s hand, left.

“You are _by far_ the stupidest little ant I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet,” Michael hissed. “You’re certainly giving your brother a run for his money!”

“If I’m such a waste of time and resources,” Sam rasped, “then why the hell am I here, Michael? If all I’m going to do is fail and turn into Lucifer 2.0, then why should I even be here?”

Michael took in a deep breath, ready to argue, when Dean burst in.

“You’re a damned idiot, Samuel William Winchester,” Dean shouted.

“I’m tired, Dean,” Sam whispered. “I’m not getting better. I’m _never_ getting better. I’m just a burden now, Dean. The schizophrenic angry little brother who’s destined to do nothing but fail.”

Dean sat down and held Sam’s hand, pressing down on the scar firmly. “You were _never_ a burden, Sammy,” Dean said fiercely. “I don’t care what _anyone_ tells you. Believe me, Sam. You’re not a burden. Not on me, and not on anyone else.” He squeezed the hand he was holding. “You scared me, Sam. I got the call. . .” he looked down, seeing Sam’s wrists bandaged from wrist to elbow. “You did a number on yourself, didn’t ya?”

Sam winced. “De-”

“I know,” Dean said softly. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t protect you from this. But I’m going to help you now, in whatever way I can.”

Sam nodded, letting a tear slip past his eye. “I’m trying to believe you, Dean,” he whispered. “I really am. But I’m going insane and I just want it over.”

“Dammit, Sammy,” Dean sighed. “I’m going to find Cas.”

“He’s dead, Dean,” Sam whispered.

“Then I’m going to bring his feathery ass back to life and have him put you back to normal,” Dean said. “Just. . . be careful. Did he tell you to do it?”

Sam shook his head. “I just want it to be over.”

Dean squeezed Sam’s hand. “Hang on for me, little brother.”

“No promises,” Sam whispered.

Dean gave a sad smile and left.

Sam turned his head to regard Michael. “Do I still deserve forgiveness and absolution?” he asked softly. “Or am I a lost cause?”

Michael glared at Sam before sighing heavily. “Both,” he said softly. “You feel all this. . . unworthiness in you. Sam, every human deserves forgiveness.”

Sam gave a sad smile. “I’m not fully human,” he whispered.

“No,” Michael agreed, “and while I’ve been cruel, I just want you to realize you need to be forgiven in order to move on.” He sat down on the other side that Dean vacated.

Sam shook his head. “I can’t be forgiven if I’m an abomination.” He closed his eyes.

Michael said nothing more for the rest of the night. Yet, despite the archangel being quiet, Sam couldn’t sleep. All he could do was cry.

 

Dean showed up with Castiel a few days later. Apparently, Cas had been found with a family working as an honest to God faith healer in the name of the Lord.

“Cas?” Sam whispered.

“Oh goodie,” Michael whispered in Sam’s ear. “Maybe he can convince you that you can be forgiven, and that I can grant you that.”

“This is my fault,” Castiel said. “I’m so sorry, Sam.”

Sam chuckled tiredly. “I don’t think you can fix me, Cas,” he whispered. “Just leave me here to die.”

“Sam!” Michael and Dean both said in unison, in the same exact tone. Sam laughed quietly.

“Sorry,” he whispered when he caught Dean and Castiel staring at him. “It’s just that Michael and Dean said my name the exact same way, at the same exact time. Like a big brother scolding a little brother.”

“May I?” Castiel asked, reaching up to touch Sam’s forehead.

“Sure, but you can’t heal me, Cas,” Sam murmured.

“We’ll see,” Castiel said, pressing two fingers to Sam’s forehead.

Warm Grace trickled into Sam’s body, and he couldn’t help but shiver from it. When it was removed, Sam looked up at Castiel.

Castiel looked at Dean. “Sam’s right. I cannot heal him. He’s too far gone. However, I can. . . transfer his hallucinations to me.”

“Can you handle that, Cas?” Dean asked in a hushed voice. “I mean, it’s freakin’ Michael.”

Castiel regarded Dean. “I’d rather it be Michael than Lucifer,” he said simply. He turned to Sam and sat down next to him. “This will hurt,” he said, laying a hand over Sam’s forehead.

Little by little, Michael faded and Sam gasped as warmth flooded back through him, having been so cold since Michael appeared in his mind and Castiel glowed blue, then red, before going still. He turned and backed away from the bed, whimpering slightly. “Sir, I’m sorry. . .”

Sam sighed heavily. Michael was gone, but every doubt that Michael had planted, every thought about forgiveness, penance, and absolution remained.

So did he really leave? Or was he just hiding in disguise?

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr @lucibae-is-dancing-in-hell
> 
> Comments and Kudos are Shiny!!


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